Chapter Text
It’s well past midnight when Chuuya hears the knocking at his door, quick and repetitive. It had been quiet in his house. Peaceful, even, with just the sound of rain harshly pattering against the roof. Who the hell would be here at this hour? In the pouring rain, no less?
Dazai, obviously. He should’ve known.
The brunette was entirely drenched with rain when Chuuya opened the door.
“Chuuya! Isn’t it good to see me?” He asked, a too wide grin on his face.
“It’s twelve in the morning,” was Chuuya’s only reply.
“And your favorite person is here for a sleepover!” Dazai smiled brightly.
Chuuya raised his eyebrows involuntarily. “Excuse me?”
“So…my shipping container kind of flooded because of the rain.”
Chuuya stared at him.
“And you decided to come here?”
“Yup!”
“And you’re asking to spend the night.”
“Yup!”
Chuuya surprised himself by considering it for a moment before slamming the door shut with a “hell no.”
He rolled his eyes, heading back into the house. He sat down on the bed while thunder crashed outside, a flash of lightning following after. Chuuya felt a nagging feeling at the back of his brain, as if Dazai himself was there. He soon found himself standing up and retracing his own tracks to the door.
He hated the things Dazai made him do. Worse, he hated how willing he was to oblige.
The sound of the rain amplified the moment he opened the door, each drop hitting like a music note. He looked down to see Dazai curled up on the front step. Dazai looked up at the sound of the door creaking open. A grin split his face.
“I knew the slug would come back!” He exclaimed victoriously.
Chuuya glared. Something about the fact that Dazai knew he’d let him in eventually gave Chuuya a strange feeling. “Do you want to come in or not?”
Dazai stood up eagerly. Chuuya headed inside with a sigh, Dazai following after and effectively dripping water all over the floor.
Chuuya gave him a once over. Dazai was soaked from sitting in the rain waiting for him and was shaking lightly from the cold.
“You’re getting water everywhere,” Chuuya noted.
“Perhaps Chuuya should offer me a towel.” Dazai blinked innocently, shuffling out of mud-covered shoes. Chuuya stalked off, muttering under his breath while Dazai flopped to a laying position on the couch. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to take a moment to breathe. He was just about to fall asleep when a towel hit him in the face.
“I take it you didn’t bring clothes to change into either?” Chuuya asked irritatedly.
“Did I mention that all my stuff got soaked in the flood?” Dazai chirped.
Chuuya groaned, but apparently he had came prepared. He threw more fabric at Dazai, which he identified as a shirt and sweatpants.
“Aww, look at you taking care of me!” Dazai exclaimed.
“You literally showed up at my house in the middle of the night and gave me no choice,” Chuuya deadpanned. “Go shower. You’re gross right now.”
Dazai complied, thankfully without much resistance. He’d invaded Chuuya’s house enough times to know where the bathroom was.
Dazai stepped into the shower, gently unwinding his wet bandages. They stuck to his arms as he peeled them off like skin, uncovering the cuts lining his wrists and forearms. He turned the water on to warm; it stung against fresh wounds. He winced at the burning sensation in each jagged cut as the water pelted his skin. Some of them were still bleeding, he realized. He watched drops of blood drip down from his limbs to the water below, swirling down the drain in hues of red and pink. The soap pricked inside of each horizontal slit, but at least it was familiar. It smelled like Chuuya. It gave Dazai a comforting feeling as he scrubbed the soap over himself and washed it off, relishing in the warmth of the shower after the cold rain.
He got out of the shower ten minutes later, drying himself off and putting on the pants Chuuya had thrown at him. The shirt was laid on the bed, untouched as Dazai attempted to find fresh bandages. He’d have left his ones from before on if they hadn’t been soaked through completely. He typically didn’t care much for such menial things such as changing bandages, eating, getting out of bed in the morning. He nearly jumped at the sound of the door opening, lost in his thoughts.
“Shit,” Chuuya muttered. “I thought you were still in the bathroom.” Chuuya noticed against his will how thin Dazai was. Before that, he had to notice the wounds marring Dazai’s exposed limbs. “Dazai- what did you do?”
It was not the correct question to ask someone who you’d just discovered shirtless and bleeding, but Chuuya was egregiously terrible at showing care. Dazai seemed to pause at the question. He didn’t answer it, just looked at the ground with a blank stare, nothing behind his eyes.
Chuuya realized Dazai wasn’t going to give him anything and walked into the bathroom, where he grabbed rubbing alcohol to clean the wounds and a roll of bandages that he never used for anything but Dazai. He stepped back into the bedroom and took Dazai by the shoulder, guiding him to sit on the bed. He hated that it felt almost like routine by now. A familiar process, known steps to take.
“Idiot.” Chuuya noticed a slight trembling in his own hands as he began to cleanse the cuts. He forced them to stop, taking a breath. Dazai winced slightly at the contact of the cotton pad, but made no other reaction. That disturbed him more. Something, 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 would’ve felt more normal. “When did this happen?” Chuuya asked.
“Right before I came here,” Dazai said blankly, voice disattached, eyes glazed over. Like he wasn’t there at all. Like the answer was automatic, practiced. Ready.
“Why?”
It was, again, not the correct question, and Dazai didn’t provide an answer.
“Dazai-“ he started.
“I don’t know.”
“Did something happen?” Chuuya tried.
“No.” Dazai said.
“Then why?”
“Just because I can.” The answer came too quick, too prepared, too honest. Chuuya sat back for a moment to run a hand over his face. He didn’t understand it. Then he returned to tending to the brunette’s injuries, wrapping bandages around his left arm with more tenderness than one would ever expect from Chuuya. It felt silly, almost. Here they were, two people closely affiliated with the mafia…while Chuuya gently bandaged Dazai’s arm with the care usually reserved for a lover, Dazai wearing Chuuya’s clothes, all in his bed.
He winded the bandages around Dazai’s other arm. Then he grabbed his shirt and pulled it over the other boy’s head, minding his still damp hair. He resisted the urge to run a hand through it. Freshly bandaged, Dazai still seemed unwell. He was all too thin, and there was still that ever-present blank look in his eyes.
“Have you eaten?” Chuuya asked.
“Yeah,” Dazai said too quickly.
Chuuya observed him for a moment, letting the silence speak for itself. “Try again,” he said. Dazai stared off before answering with the casualness of someone speaking of the weather.
“I can go another day.”
The response didn’t sit right with Chuuya. He wouldn’t let it slide.
“Come on,” Chuuya said, giving no room for protest. Dazai stood and followed him out of the bedroom. His compliance might’ve been the scariest part. “What do you want to eat?”
“I’m not hungry,” Dazai said quietly.
“Bullshit. What do you want to eat?”
Dazai sat silently on the couch. This was almost relieving— it was more in character for him to make things difficult for Chuuya.
“Fine. You’re getting whatever the hell I can find, and you’re gonna eat it.”
Dazai didn’t say anything back, just running his fingers up and down the new bandages. Chuuya rummaged through his kitchen cabinets for anything that seemed like something Dazai would tolerate. He settled on a can of light soup, heating it up in his microwave.
He set the bowl down in front of the couch harshly, threatening to spill over the coffee table. Dazai watched it. Chuuya wished for any sort of reaction. Some anticipation, a disgusted face, anything. Dazai’s expression remained holding nothing. Chuuya pushed the bowl forwards as though it would encourage Dazai to at least try it.
“Eat,” Chuuya instructed. Dazai stared at the bowl. Chuuya stared at him. He raised an eyebrow at Dazai as though to say, “𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭?”
Dazai picked up the bowl and lifted the spoon to his lips, glancing up at Chuuya every few seconds. He took a small, careful first sip of the hot soup. He didn’t even process the taste, the only thing he could pay attention to was the burn as it slid down his throat. His stomach twisted at the sudden intake of nutrients. His body had stopped asking for it days ago, and it fought to expel the liquid. He fought back a gag, because throwing up in front of Chuuya was far from ideal.
Dazai’s hands were shaking, he realized. The spoon fell from his hand, clanking against the bowl loudly. He watched it fall.
Chuuya didn’t say anything, just sat down on the couch beside him and picked up the bowl. He brought the spoon to Dazai’s mouth himself.
“Can’t even eat by yourself,” Chuuya muttered. “Where would you be without me?” It was meant to be an insult, but his voice betrayed it as concern. Dazai took the soup carefully, swallowing slowly. He sat through half the bowl before pushing the bowl away, insisting that he was finished.
“Fine,” Chuuya said. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. “It’s late. I’m going to sleep.”
“Okay! Sleep tight,” Dazai said, as though they hadn’t spent the last hour taking care of injuries that if left unattended could’ve killed him.
“You’re coming with me, dumbass.” Chuuya raised an eyebrow like it was stupid that Dazai could’ve thought otherwise. Dazai stared at him blankly, processing.
“What?” He asked. Chuuya grabbed him by the arm, (gently, so gently) and dragged Dazai into the bedroom instead of answering. There was blood on the floor. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic. Chuuya laid down in the bed and turned to face the wall as though Dazai wasn’t there at all. Dazai stood beside it for a moment before slowly crawling in beside him, mindful of his mutilated arms.
“We’re sleeping together, how romantic,” Dazai said.
“Shut the fuck up and go to sleep.”
Dazai groaned but obeyed, shifting subconsciously closer to the other. And if Dazai ended up wrapped in Chuuya’s arms, neither of them said anything of it in the morning.